Cancer sent me into a state of depression. And it took more than a year of counseling and treatment with an anti-depressant to bring me back to a balanced and healthy level of functioning.

My type of depression -- the kind that shows up just after a cancer diagnosis -- is not uncommon. And neither is the spillover that depression can leave on the children of moms depressed because of their disease.

A study at the University of Pittsburgh -- the first to examine the relationship between children's concerns and a mother's cancer-related depression -- found children of depressed breast cancer patients were more likely to be concerned or anxious about their mother's cancer and about how the disease affects their families.

It's not surprising that kids worry about their moms during times of illness. What startled researchers, though, is the fact that children's' anxieties extended to concerns about the entire family.

The results of this study, funded by the National Cancer Institute, has clear implications. As a society, we need to think about how depression affects whole family units. Oncologists must learn to spot depression early and must swiftly assist women in finding appropriate treatment. And parents should talk openly about cancer and it's emotional side effects with their children in an effort to protect them from withdrawing, hiding their concerns, and suffering in silence.

Most estimates indicate nearly one quarter of women diagnosed with breast cancer have young children. And about 100,000 kids will be affected by a cancer diagnosis this year alone.

A little bit of education goes a long way, especially in the war against cancer. Armed with facts and figures and know-how, we can help advance prevention and early detection of this deadly disease.

So in the spirit of National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month, here are seven truths that serve to broaden your horizons about the third most common cancer found in men and women in this country.

As you read these truths, be aware that the death rate from colorectal cancer has been on a downward climb for the past 15 years due to better screening, fewer diagnosed cases, early detection, and more advanced treatment. Keep in mind that you can help keep this trend going by raising your own awareness and by taking action on behalf of yourself and your loved ones.

• Colorectal cancer refers to cancer that starts in the colon or rectum. These cancers begin in the digestive system where food is processed to create energy and rid the body of solid waste matter.

• Colorectal cancers develop slowly over a period of years and mostly begin in the form of polyps -- growths of tissue that start in the lining and grow into the center of the colon or rectum. Removing polyps early may prevent them from becoming cancerous. More than 95 percent of colon and rectal cancers are called adenocarcinomas.

• For people of average risk, screening is recommended beginning at age 50. Those whose risk is higher than average should talk with a physician about appropriate screening.

• Screening is used to detect disease in people who do not have any symptoms. In many cases, screening tests find colorectal cancers at an early stage and greatly improve the chances of successful treatment. Screening tests can prevent some cancers by allowing doctors to find and remove polyps that might become cancer. There are several tests used to look for colorectal cancer. Ask your doctor what test is best for you.

• Treatment for colorectal cancer includes surgery, radiation therapy, chemotherapy, and newer targeted therapies.

• The American Cancer Society predicts there will be 112,340 new cases of colon cancer and 41,420 new cases of rectal cancer in 2007 in the United States. Combined, the diseases will cause about 52,180 deaths.

• The Colorectal Cancer Coalition -- or C3 -- is a national organization whose mission is to eliminate suffering and death due to colon and rectal cancer through advocacy. Visit here for more information.

The material shared in this post was gathered from the websites of the American Cancer Society and the Colorectal Cancer Coalition.

Eight-year-old Luis Carranza, whose mother slipped him from Mexico into the United States for live-saving cancer treatment, has died of leukemia after the same treatment that once offered him remission attacked his central nervous system, and caused seizures and terminal, irreversible brain damage.

Luis' story, first featured in a September 18 post, is a powerful one, riddled with struggle and hardship and love and commitment.

The story began less than two years ago when Guadalupe Carranza smuggled her young, sick son into the United States for treatment. Luis was welcomed into a Texas hospital and was showered with an abundance of love from staff and volunteers. Guadalupe did not receive the same warm welcome, however, and was deported back to Mexico. And while she battled to return to her son's bedside, Guadalupe was met with continued defeat -- until her son fell into a coma and border and consulate officials allowed the mother to cross back into the United States where she stayed until her son passed away on Thursday at his grandparent's house in El Paso.

Guadalupe had been with her son since May 8, 2006. And an attorney involved in Luis' case says he believes the boy, despite his serious condition, could sense his mother's presence. And everyone involved believes the boy, who was clearly suffering, is now in a much better place.

I had a free massage the other day, compliments of a local massage workshop called Caring for Clients with Cancer.

This hands-on gift came to me by way of a woman who was once a scientist and is now a massage therapist. Concerned that cancer patients are rarely encouraged to cash in on the benefits of touch therapy, this woman merged her two disciplines so she could help patients heal in a holistic manner. And so her workshop was born. And I was invited to take part.

I received one completely soothing and invigorating massage. I also received one completely inspiring packet of quotes -- that I've already read over and over again -- related to recovery and healing. Each quote is so perfect in its message, and I wish I could share them all today. But time and space are limited at the moment, and I can only share a few.

So here are seven of my favorite quotes, free for the taking, a gift from me to you. Take a moment to read them, share them, savor them, and quietly reflect on the power of these simple words.

People who have been through illness's dark passage can occasionally give us a glimpse, not only of what it is like to become whole, but of what it is to be more fully human.
--Marc Ian Barasch
The Healing Path

Those who have suffered understand suffering and therefore extend their hand.
--Patti Smith

What matters is this: you can look at a scar and see hurt or you can look at a scar and see healing. Try to understand.
--Sheri Reynolds

I have a duty to speak the truth as I see it and to share not just my triumphs, not just the things that felt good, but the pain, the intense, often unmitigating pain. It is important to share how I know survival is survival and not just a walk through the rain.
--Audre Lorde

Illness is the night-side of life, a more onerous citizenship. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use only the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place.
--Susan Sontag, Illness as Metaphor

Remember that everyone you meet is afraid of something, loves something, and has lost something.
--H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

Patience is a hard discipline. It is not just waiting until something happens over which we have no control; the arrival of the bus, the end of the rain, the return of a friend, the resolution of a conflict. Patience is not waiting passively until someone else does something. Patience asks us to live the moment to the fullest, to be completely present to the moment, to taste the here and now, to be where we are. When we are impatient, we try to get away from where we are. We behave as if the real thing will happen tomorrow, later, and somewhere else. Let's be patient and trust that the treasure we look for is hidden in the ground on which we stand.
--Henry J.M. Nouwen

A few days ago, notification of an e-mail arrived in my inbox. It popped up right in front of me, with the sender's name -- Amy Wilson -- glaring in black print right before my eyes. Amy is my friend who was diagnosed with breast cancer just after my own diagnosis. We e-mailed frequently about our cancer hopes and fears and so it was never before odd that a message would travel from her computer in Ohio to mine in Florida. But on the day this one e-mail arrived, it was odd -- because Amy died two weeks ago, after a 15-month battle with the disease we both vowed to conquer.

The e-mail was not from Amy. It was from her husband, Paul. And it was as comforting to hear from him as it was odd to see Amy's name flash in front of me. You see, I have wanted to call Paul, e-mail Paul, send a card to Paul -- something. I have wanted to reach out in some way, even though I have never met the man who thought he would spend the rest of his life raising his two children with Amy. But I never could figure out what I would write or say or send. I have been afraid that it would be hard for him to talk about Amy's death. I've been afraid that it would be hard for me to talk about her death. So I have waited, hoping the passage of time would help prepare me for some sort of action. And in the end, time was not necessary. Because Paul reached out to me. And this is what he wrote in the e-mail he sent from Amy's mailbox.


And now I can contact Paul, because he has opened the door. He -- the one suffering the greatest loss -- has comforted me. And now I need to thank him.

In the United States, mammograms are not recommended for women under the age of 40. Other then an annual check-up and a monthly self breast exam, young women with no family history of breast cancer have no medical tools available for preventing and detecting the disease. But no woman is immune to this disease -- and being female is the single most important risk factor for diagnosis. And young women do get breast cancer. I did. And so did Sharon Rutherford, a 36-year-old Ulster woman who was diagnosed in December.

Rutherford is urging health officials to lower the age for screening in Northern Ireland -- where routine breast screening programs are reserved for women between the ages of 50 and 64. Rutherford says this is inadequate as there is an "absolutely chronic" number of younger women suffering from breast cancer.

Although there is a reduced-age screening program that monitors women beginning at age 40, Rutherford would like to see the screening age reduced to 30. Until then, she is educating women about how they can be vigilant about their own care. She urges women to report to doctors anything that just doesn't feel right. And because doctors may excuse symptoms because women are "too young" for breast cancer -- that's what doctors told her -- women must aggressively pursue medical care. Rutherford kept pursuing the thickening she felt in her breast -- and eventually she was referred for screening.

Rutherford has had a partial mastectomy, chemotherapy, and radiation treatment. And she is now active in the Ulster Cancer Foundation's new support group -- specifically for women under the age of 40.

I was in the emergency room the other night with my three-year-old who was experiencing a mysterious leg pain that resulted from a bad case of strep throat. It wasn't serious enough to warrant swift movement from the waiting room to an actual room and we sat in a holding pattern with a crowd of other patients, some of whom were still waiting after Danny had been treated and released. I was told patients are served in the order in which they arrive but also according to the seriousness of their complaints -- which takes me back to the night I was in the ER with a fever, headache, sore throat, and sore gums. The night I was given a mask and was immediately escorted from the waiting room to a private room where doctors and nurses treated me for neutropenia -- a condition caused by chemotherapy and marked by a drop in neutrophil levels, a condition that puts chemotherapy patients at great risk for infection. This was the second time I went to the hospital for neutropenia. Both times I was admitted and treated for five days.

And so sitting in the ER reminded me about how serious chemotherapy side effects can be. And it makes me want to caution all chemotherapy patients to never dismiss the signs that the body is suffering -- to never tough it out with the hope that a good night's sleep or a few days rest will straighten everything out. Because it may not -- and the end result may be tragic.

All chemotherapy patients should be briefed by their medical teams about when to call for medical assistance. For me, a temperature of 100.4 was the magic call-for-help signal. And twice, I called for help -- once in the middle of the night. But any symptoms , and definitely a combination of symptoms, are cause enough for a simple phone call. So don't delay. Don't excuse warning signs that your body is struggling. Don't second-guess your decision to notify a medical professional about your symptoms. Just call. It could save your life.

At the same Atlanta meeting of the American Society of Clinical Oncology where the breast cancer drug Tykerb was touted as perhaps the next wonder drug, findings were also released concerning chemotherapy and end-stage cancer. It seems that many patients in the last weeks and days of their lives are receiving chemotherapy -- when it is clear that there is no hope for survival. Perhaps patients don't want to give up and so they choose to fight to the very end. I think I would be hard-pressed to throw in the towel if a doctor thought I might benefit from continued treatment. Miracles do happen.

Doctors may be part of the problem, though, according to researchers. Patients don't want to give up -- and neither do doctors. But cancer specialists report that overly aggressive treatment gives false hope and puts people though unnecessary suffering and costly ordeals when hospice would be a more effective route. The purpose of hospice -- to help people die with dignity and in comfort -- is ineffective, however, when it's not used to its full potential. A large review of Medicare records showed in 1999 that nearly 12 percent of cancer patients died after receiving chemotherapy in the last two weeks of life. This was up from 1993 -- 10 percent -- and is probably higher today. These individuals could have been peacefully preparing for death and instead were suffering through the trials of harsh treatment.

The solution -- that must be implemented by doctors -- is a willingness to accept that there is a time to stop followed by an honest conversation with the patient whose cancer has spread widely and is incurable.

Another study presented at this Atlanta meeting revealed that some patients are not being offered newer treatments that might truly save their lives. New lung cancer treatments have extended survival from 20 percent at one year to 50 percent, for example. Yet only 11 percent of doctors in one Wisconsin study would refer such patients for treatment.

It would be nice to know for sure that one life is about to end, regardless of treatment, and to know that another might be saved because of treatment. And maybe one day -- when treating cancer is an exact science -- this will be a reality.

According to directors and critics alike, Timothy Spall is an acting institution -- a yardstick by which to measure other actors. My boys and most moviegoers know Timothy Spall as Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail, from the Harry Potter films and as Mr. Poe in the Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events film. Ten years ago, Spall was diagnosed with leukemia, and in a recent interview, he spoke about the experiences of being a cancer survivor. 

When he was first diagnosed with cancer, he said, "I had to face up to oblivion." Ten years later, he says, "It's a tacit thing. It's called remission. It's a bit like being an alcoholic; you're a recovering alcoholic until the day you die. With cancer, they suggest that after five years of being clear, if you are going to die it may be something else that kills you."

"Ten years is going to be a great anniversary. I know exactly when I was diagnosed, to the day. We won't have a huge shindig, but it's a very important day. It was a horrendous, horrendous adventure." Although Spall does not want to be known or remembered because he had cancer, he does credit the experience for making him the actor he has become. In understanding suffering, and fear, and oblivion, he can relate to characters he plays who face similar life situations, and can bring a realism to the portrayal.

On being an actor -- and on living -- and on the future he says, "Nothing to lose, everything to gain, everything to enjoy." Spoken from the perspective of a true cancer survivor.